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THE SOUTH'S 
AWAKENING 

BY 

ARCHIBALD HENDERSON 

OF THE UNIVERSITY OF NORTH CAROLINA 



Address before the Alpha Chapter, Phi Beta Kappa, 
of Tulane University 



« ' » » 



NEW ORLEANS, JUNE FIRST 

NINETEEN HUNDRED 

AND FIFTEEN 



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The South's Awakening 



Address Before the Alpha Chapter, Phi Beta Kappa, of 
Tulane University, New Orleans, June 1, 1915. 

After hearing your more than generous words of introduction, 
I am tempted to agree with that man who said that he would 
take care of his traducers, if his friends would look out for his 
introducers. Permit me to thank you, Mr. President, for the 
honor you have conferred upon me in asking me to address the 
Alpha Chapter of Phi Beta Kappa — this ancient and honorable 
society which has "Friendship for its basis, Benevolence and 
Literature for its pillars." In this day of the ready rupture 
of Triple Alliances, I would venture the hope that this Triple 
Alliance of Learning, and Virtue, and Patriotism, as Lafayette 
once put it, may remain forever permanent and intact. I bring 
you the felicitations of your sister Chapter of Phi Beta Kappa 
at Carolina, and to the President of your University the greet- 
ings of another former professor of English, whose 
wife, nee Susan Moses, was formerly an instructor in 
Newcomb — my classmate and fellow-member in Phi Beta 
Kappa, the new president of our University, Dr. Gra- 
ham. Only the other day I clasped the hand of Dr. 
Alderman, to whom both Tulane and Carolina may lay just 
claim — and he spoke in terms of warm affection of this place, 
this people, and this institution. With sadness, I miss the 
face of that cultured scholar and debonair gentleman, Professor 
Fortier, who used to share at table with me his copies of the 
Picayune and the Figaro; with pleasure, I welcome the oppor- 
tunity to see again my friends, Miss Stone, Professor Wood- 
ward, Professor Bechtel, and my erstwhile colleague, Courtland 
Curtis. I have come a long way to be with you on this occa- 
sion; and I feel like that old Westerner I once heard remark 
in response to the usual bromide on such occasions: "Well, it's 
not that the world is such a small place, after all— but that the 
people in it are so damned active. ' ' 



On receiving your invitation, I began to fish around in 
my mind for an idea; and after waiting a long time without 
getting a 'bite," I could sympathize with the little boy who, 
in answer to the inquiry of a passer-by as to what he was 
doing, replied that he was fishing for snigs. "Snigs," ex- 
claimed the questioner, "And pray, what are snigs?" To 
which the little boy mournfully replied, "I dunno. I h'aint 
cotch none yit. " At last, a phrase in an old letter concerning 
this very society met my eye, and, shall I say, swallowed my 
bait? 

More than a century and a quarter ago, John Beckley of 
Virginia, writing to a friend at Yale College, expressed the 
hope that this society might "produce a union through the 
various climes and countries of this great continent, of all lovers 
of literary merit * * *" So, like another Don Quixote, I 
would enter your lists to-night in behalf of that forlorn and 
hapless damsel, hight Literature. With John Galsworthy I 
would exclaim : 

1 ' Come ! let us lay a crazy lance in rest, 
And tilt at wind-mills under the wild sky ! 
For who would live so petty and unblest 
That dare not tilt at something ere he die, 
Rather than, screened by safe majority, 
Preserve his little life to little ends, 
And never raise a rebel battle-cry ! ' ' 
A vital problem which we all face in America, and especially 
in the South, is the problem of literature in a democracy. Only 
in the life of the sovereign people, as reflected in our history, 
are to be found the creative seeds from which the flower of 
a great literature may spring. Many of you have seen upon 
University Heights in New York a noble structure of gleaming 
white marble, an enduring monument to American genius, the 
Hall of Fame. Upon only one of the fifty-one tablets thus far 
placed upon its walls is the South represented by a distinctively 
literary genius — a man of English parentage who happened to 
be born in Boston, Massachusetts — Edgar Allan Poe. With the 
possible exception of Lanier, Southern writers before his day 
never received recognition and support as national writers. The 
principal figures which come to mind — Simms, Cooke, Timrod, 



Hayne, Ryan, O'Hara, Wilde — were gifted writers, occasionally 
inspired with the touch of genius, yet more often treading the 
pedestrian paths of localized view, conventional theme, and im- 
perfect technic. 

And yet, the very real merits of these Southern writers 
have been uniformly ignored — more through ignorance of their 
writings than through any prejudice against this division of the 
United States. And a just and adequate History of American 
Literature, throwing Southern genius into true perspective in 
the national picture, yet remains to be written. It behooves the 
Southern critic to be modest, yet firm, in his claims for Southern 
genius. With respect to our literature in the South as a whole, 
we should evidence that delightful sense of modesty exhibited 
by the young Creole girl who went to confessional. "Father," 
she said, "I have committed an awful sin. I have permitted a 
young man to kiss me." "Daughter," replied the holy man, 
"that is not an unpardonable sin. How many times did he kiss 
you?" "Father," she said, regarding him reproachfully, "I 
am here to confess, not to boast." It is blind loyalty to a mis- 
taken ideal which dictates the affirmation that America, even, 
has yet given to the world a literature primitively and originally 
distinctive of our national life. Poe was a world-wide genius, 
who still moves to creative reflections artistic genius in all lands ; 
but he was a denizen of a No-Man's Land of the imagination, 
strangely unrelated to the soil from which he sprang. Whit- 
man was a prophet of the new time — a bold, frank spirit who 
previsaged a cosmic dream of democratic art; but his own art 
was the splendid tentative of an undeveloped Titan. Cooper 
stirred the metropolitan imagination with his esthetic present- 
ment of the most romantic figure of American origin, the Red 
Man; but it was the stunning novelty of the aboriginal figure, 
cradled in the primitive conditions of barbaric freedom, rather 
than any novel mode of presentment, which caught and en- 
thralled the fancy of an over-civilized and over-governed 
Europe. Mark Twain set up the great cosmic laugh of good 
humor which still echoes round the world; bu1 even the most 
loyal American cannot deny that he was deficient in culture. 
A genuine American type of literary genius. Cully combining 
culture with pictursqueness, suavity with native self-reliance, 



I venture to believe, still awaits the imprimatur of international 
recognition. 

For years I have searched deeply into the causes for the 
comparative dearth of literary and artistic productivity in the 
South, and for that genial, nonchalant Southern indifference to 
publication — publication, the rock upon which literary fame is 
founded. I seem to find, in the intellectual and cultural history 
of the South, four distinctive periods, each leaving its inefface- 
able impress upon the life of the nation. 

•The first of these eras of Southern cultural development is 
the era of the courtly country gentleman, profound student of 
politics and history, leisurely reader of the classics and the 
humanities. In this era, the South was far more than the co- 
partner of the North in shaping the early history of the Union. 
In a memorable speech in the United States Senate, Charles 
Sumner frankly stated that for sixty years the South governed 
the country through its able men in Congress and the Presi- 
dency. In constructive statesmanship, continental thinking, and 
inspiriting nationalism, this era of Southern dominance in na- 
tional affairs is without a parallel in our national annals. The 
writings of the elder Southern statesmen, beyond all doubt, were 
an invaluable contribution to the literature of America. The 
state papers of these men, of vast intellectual scope and imagina- 
tive reach, breathing lofty ideals, yet stiffened by the hardy 
practicality of the founders of the Republic, stand as yet unri- 
valled in the nation's intellectual history. They owe their chief 
eminence less to originality of thought than to adequate inter- 
pretation of the needs of a new nation, and their universality of 
application to the problems of a democratic civilization. 

Coincident with, and consequent to, this first cycle in our 
intellectual evolution, came the second era, stretching approxi- 
mately from 1830 to 1861. There is no era in American history, 
in relation to the state of culture and the feeling of class con- 
sciousness in the South, which has been so crassly misunder- 
stood. One cannot wholly blame the romantic novelists for 
throwing into strong focus, if false perspective, the aristocratic 
and oligarchic features of Southern life — the romantic survival 
upon Southern soil of a species of belated feudalism. These 
the beautiful and picturesque phases of Southern life, 

6 



ready-made to the hand of the fictive artist; and it is no 
wonder that people still think of the War between the States 
as simply a struggle of Puritan and Cavalier, a clash of the 
ideals of the Lees of Virginia with the ideals of the Adamses of 
Massachusetts. 

There is falsehood in this alluring, if distorted, picture. 
Recent economic investigations tend conclusively to demonstrate 
that life in the rural South in antebellum days was measurably 
democratic; and that the political leaders owed their selection, 
not to a landed aristocracy, but to the great masses of the people. 
The aristocracy of leadership in the South was an aristocracy, 
not of birth, but of merit; not of blood, but of sheer, efficient 
achievement. The truly typical home of the South was not a 
Monticello or an Arlington, but a simple four-room house, the 
home of a homogeneous and pure-blooded people. The leaders 
came from all classes of the people, high and low, rich and poor 
alike. But the vital social deficiency in the situation, it must be 
clearly indicated, was that, though all classes furnished leaders, 
the aristocratic, semi-oligarchic class, of lordly leisure and patri- 
archal dignity, revelled in a monopoly of culture, whilst the 
great middle class, the structural and preponderant element of 
the population, remained submerged in a twilight of sectionalism, 
provincialism, and obscured vision. 

History confirms the familiar theory that epoch-making 
movements in industrial prosperity are contemporaneous with a 
quickening of the intellectual life and a vitalization of the intel- 
lectual resources of a people. We should expect, then, in the 
antebellum South an era of fertility in inventiveness, of power in 
imaginativeness, during the great industrial era subsequent to 
1830. New England responded nobly to the economic quickening 
of the national life with the classic and permanent monuments 
of American literature, the works of Longfellow, Lowell, Whit- 
tier, Hawthorne, Emerson, and Holmes. What explanation do 
we find for the comparative dearth of literary productivity in 
the South during the same period ? 

In the South, a local exigency of supreme significance ef- 
fectually diverted the genius of the people from the library t > 
the rostrum, from the study to the forum, Within the body 
politie was encysted, like extraneous metal in irritated flesh, the 



vexing problem of the negro and his destiny. The need of the 
hour, the subconscious pressure for a vindication of her position 
on constitutional grounds, summoned the South 's great orators 
and supreme debaters. In this era of secret introspection yet 
passionate public defence, literature was thrust into the back- 
ground by the clamorous dominance of orator and statesman. 
The spoken word came to exercise a relentless tyranny over the 
written word — a relentless tyranny which perseveres in the 
South to this very day. The superhuman efforts to safeguard 
the rights of the mass and the interests of a class left little time 
for the intensive study so indispensable for the production and 
publication of a body of great literature. 

The error of literary historians in affirming that literary 
culture found no lodgment in the antebellum South is one of 
the grave errors which only the documentary facts will suffice to 
combat. Powerful obstacles militated then — and in considerable 
measure militate to-day — against widespread preoccupation with 
literature and the obligations of creative scholarship. The 
people, an agricultural class, were widely scattered. There were 
no great cosmopolitan cities, bar New Orleans, to serve as centers 
of literary activity and forges of creative workmanship. In the 
South there were no great publishing houses, which by their very 
existence furnish a perpetual incentive to productivity and pub- 
lication. The political exigency of the hour, the ambition of the 
Southerner to maintain that political eminence which he had 
already so effectually achieved, monopolized the supply of 
dynamic literary force. If the Southerner, conservative to the 
backbone, neglected the native authors, — and it is feared that 
he neglected them sadly — it was because of his absorption in the 
reading of the great classics of antiquity, and of English and 
Continental literature. 

In his recently published history of the publishing firm of 
the Harpers, Mr. J. Henry Harper tells of the vast quantity 
of books, especially important publications of standard literary 
works, sold by that firm to Southern book-buyers in the ante- 
bellum period. "At this period," he says, "the business of the 
house had become widely extended. The firm was engaged in the 
publication of many important works, as well as in the conduct 
of their two periodicals. The brothers had many intimate friends 

8 



in the South, and a great deal of their business was with Southern 
houses; for in the years preceding the Civil War, the South 
was a great buyer of books. ' ' Another New York publisher ac- 
knowledges that his costliest invoices of European literature went 
to "the old mansions on the banks of the James and the Savan- 
nah and the bluffs of the Mississippi." In a current work de- 
tailing the history of the publishing firm of the Putnams, estab- 
lished by his father, Dr. George Haven Putnam tells of the great 
shipments of standard literary works to the South, notably to 
New Orleans, before the war between the States — greater then, 
comments he with a certain almost comic significance, than they 
have ever been since. ' ' Nothing could be more remarkable, ' ' says 
Joseph LeConte in his Autobiography, "than the wide reading, 
the deep reflection, the refined culture, and the originality of 
thought and observation characteristic of them (the Southern 
planters) ; and yet the idea of publication never entered their 
heads. ' ' 

Since 1865, the South has devoted her utmost energies to 
the rebuilding, upon broader and more universal outlines, of a 
civilization economically laid waste by the ravages of civil war. 
This she has triumphantly begun, and to-day the new South 
moves without restraint and with propulsive impetus along the 
path of normal industrial and economic progress. 

Following, if not virtually coincident with, the economic 
restoration of the fallen South, the disestablishment of an indi- 
vidualistic democracy and a pervasiely agricultural industry by 
a communistic democracy and a fully diversified industrial life, 
has proceeded the tremendous educational crusade of our period. 
The keynote of that splendid crusade may be found in the 
words of Pasteur, noblest exemplar of modern civilization: 
"Democracy is that order in the State which enables each indi- 
vidual to put forth his utmost effort. ' ' 

Unhesitatingly, the South recognized the "common man as 
the truest asset of a democracy," and resolved to educate that 
precious comman man to the tasks of leadership in all the avenues 
of an advancing civilization. The educational Leaden of the 
South of to-day recognize in universal education the supreme 
force in the moulding of national character. More even than 



this, it is the indispensable prerequisite to the intellectual, liter- 
ary, and cultural awakening of the future. 

It was in the earlier grim stages of that era of civilization- 
rebuilding — the release of the average man from the pressure of 
economic necessity and the blight of arrested cultural develop- 
ment — that the South temporarily relaxed her hold upon the 
reins of national government. Little more than a decade ago, 
the great educational crusader, the late Governor Charles B. 
Aycock of my own State — though belying the statement in his 
own brilliant, tragic career — regretfully acknowledged that at 
that moment the people of the South "had less effect upon the 
thought and action of the nation than at any period of our 
history. ' ' The thinking of the South had ceased to be an appre- 
ciable factor in the councils of the nation. 

The election of Woodrow Wilson and the quindecennial anni- 
versary of Gettysburg marked the transit of an era. ' ' A complete 
change," as a distinguished publicist recently said, "involving 
after many years the restoration to power in large measure of 
this great section has been effected without causing so much 
as a ripple of aprehension. Surely it is a fact of mighty signifi- 
cance that the South resumes virtual control of the United 
States after barely fifty years, without evoking from the most 
rabid parisan so much as a suspicion of the patriotism or fidelity 
of any one of her statesmen." In this era of the South 's awak- 
ening we rejoice to see a great jurist of this State occupy the 
most austerely distinguished post in the Republic as Chief 
Justice of the Supreme Court of the United States ; and my own 
State offers to the service of the nation a Kitchen as leader of 
the House, a Simmons as leader of the Senate, a Daniels and a 
Houston as members of the Cabinet, and a Page as Ambassador 
to the Court of St. James. In this dramatic resumption by the 
South of the control of our national destinies, there seems to 
operate a noble species of compensatory justice. The nation once 
more turns for guidance to the South, the ancient mother of 
national leadership. 

To-day, as we stand upon the threshold of this new era, 
there must come to all of us a sense of joyous elation, a leaping 
of the blood, that it is given to us to live in such a country. 
While our sister republic of Mexico is racked with the dire dis- 

10 



sensions of civil strife; while Europe is a cosmic holocaust of 
flame and blood and steel — America stands firm for civilization 
and for humanity. Supreme engineering genius has cleft in 
twain giant Culebra and recalcitrant Panama; and to-day the 
lock gates at Gatun, Pedro Miguel and Miraflores hospitably 
fling wide the giant portals of the isthmus to the argosies of 
3ommerce, to the trade of the South, the nation, and the world. 

The South is America's present land of promise. Here upon 
our own soil will be undertaken the next supreme experiment in 
the life of the nation. This will be the scene in the next great 
act in the American drama of industrial expansion. In the re- 
lease of these vast, long pent-up forces — the educational crusade, 
the resumption of national control, the opening of the great 
canal, the movement of prosperity Southward — we may discern 
the promise of a great cultural awakening. A new self -conscious- 
ness in art and letters in the South is to-day the hope and the 
promise of Southern life. 

Art, considered as a factor in civilization, is an incomparable 
means of widening intellectual and spiritual horizons and pro- 
moting the cause of culture. The measure of a people 's advance 
in the fine arts is the measure of their distance from the brutes. 
Art is not merely an auxiliary to civilization; art is almost 
synonymous with civilization itself. "Life without art," as 
Ruskin says, "is mere brutality." And the problem which con- 
fronts the South to-day is the problem of art and literature in a 
democracy. 

The distinguished Spanish novelist, Palacio-Valdes, some- 
where says that "art is a necessary outcome of a certain degree 
of prosperity attained by countries when man, having overcome 
the obstacles which were opposed to his subsistence, recovered 
from his fatigue and enjoyed life quietly." We in the South 
have overcome obstacles opposed to material subsistence ; we 
have established the regime of a national democracy; we have 
formulated and are striving to realize the millennial dream o( 
universal education. We have passed strenuously into the iron 
age of economic prosperity, idealistically into the silver age of 
educational optimism. We stand to-day knocking at the portals 
of the golden age of culture. In our time wo have seen the 
ideals of our civilization shift Erom symbol to symbol. The 



symbols of the first era were the bench, the bar, and the manor. 
The symbols of the ante-bellum era were the rostrom and the 
forum. The symbols of the recent era have been the furnace and 
the factory, the schoolhouse and the academy. Shall not the 
symbols of the new era be the shrines of culture, of literature, 
and of art? 

Fourteen years ago, Dr. Alderman in his inaugural address 
at your university pointed out that at that time the highest 
expression of the South 's power was not literary, but scientific 
and industrial; and he predicted that this was likely to remain 
so for some time to come. And I must confess that there has 
never been a time when the South could accurately be described 
as the home of the Muses. Perhaps our people have always 
endorsed the witty definition that penury is the wages of the 
pen. I never think of the literature of our section that I do 
not recall the lugubrious threnody of that famous bard of our 
sister Carolina, J. Gordon Coogler: 

"Alas for the South ! Her books 
have grown fewer ; 
She never was much given 
to literature. ' ' 

Perhaps George Moore is right in his recent assertion — which 
we may fitly apply to the South — that the circle of readers who 
understand and appreciate a work of imaginative literature is 
certainly narrower to-day than it was a generation or more ago. I 
am not so sure that we care so much for reading or for books in the 
South— no, not even for encyclopaedias. I heard not long ago 
of an agent who asked a farmer in one of our rural districts if 
he didn't want to buy an encyclopaedia, to which the conserva- 
tive old farmer replied: "Naw, we don't take much stock in 
them new-fangled machines. In this neck of the woods we still 
stick to the old-fashioned horse and buggy." 

I have been recently impressed by an article which appeared 
within the year, entitled, "The Geographic Distribution of 
American Genius." In this article, the author, Professor Scott 
Nearing of the University of Pennsylvania, concludes that, of 
persons of eminence in the United States to-day, ' ' an overwhelm- 
ing proportion seem to have been born in that section of the 



I 



northeastern United States bounded by the Mason and Dixon 
line on the South, the Mississippi-Missouri river on the West." 
These lines seem almost to be drawn by Professor Nearing, as if 
with scrupulous care to include Pennsylvania and to exclude 
both North Carolina and Louisiana — North Carolina, which has 
recently memorialized John Henry Boner, whose "Poe's Cot- 
tage at Fordham ' ' is part of the immortal heritage of American 
and English song, and "O'Henry," the greatest American mas- 
ter of the short-story of our day — whose associations with New 
Orleans have but lately been so fascinatingly pictured by Miss 
Caroline Frances Richardson ; and Louisiana which, with George 
W. Cable, Grace King, Brander Matthews, and Ruth McEnery 
Stuart, has made noble and enduring contributions to the litera- 
ture of English-speaking peoples. 

"What is the problem of culture?" asks that brilliant critic 
and philosopher, Friedrich Nietzsche; and his answer is unim- 
peachable : ' ' To live and to work in the noblest strivings of one 's 
nation and of humanity — not only, therefore, to receive and 
to learn, but to live. To free one's age and people from wrong 
tendencies, to have one 's ideal before one 's eyes. ' ' Let me voice 
my solemn conclusion that we cannot build up here in the South 
a great civilization — a civilization as great in art and letters, in 
culture and taste, as it is great in material resources, statesman- 
like ideals, and an aroused social consciousness — unless we do 
live and work in the noblest strivings of our nation and of 
humanity. 

It is to such an organization as this society of Phi Beta Kappa 
that we must look, to foster the love of learning and to stimulate 
the creation of works of literary and artistic genius. We look 
to you and to similar organizations to impress upon the people 
generally that the novelist is the maker of history, in the two- 
fold sense — in that he projects authentic pictures of life already 
lived, and directs the course of events in accordance with the 
ideas which he embodies; and that the poet is the interpreter 
and the seer, whose winged words inspire the soul and become 
the mainspring of action. Toward the patent and glaring de- 
ficiencies in our civilization wo must loam, in tlio Language of 
William Watson, "to foci and understand a large and liberal 
discontent." Our people must be taughl the realization that 

13 



literature is an incomparable means of promoting culture, widen- 
ing social horizons, and advancing the cause of civilization. 
Literature is national and international autobiography, since it 
is the presentation of civilization in its best products, its most 
significant moments, at their highest emotional voltage. We 
must take to heart a significant lesson of our time : that it was not 
wealth or national power or military prowess, but Ibsen and 
Bjornson, who projected little Norway into the focus of interna- 
tional renown. 

Last of all, I would plead for a more intelligent and con- 
structive pride in the achievements of our men and women of 
letters. When Orville Wright was a mere bicycle machinist, his 
father went into his shop one day and said, "Look here, Orville, 
you are simply wasting your time on this infernal flying 
machine. Fools have been tinkering on the thing ever since the 
beginning of the world, and nobody has ever flown yet. And 
nobody ever will — you can count on that. But if anybody ever 
does learn how to fly, it certainly won't be anybody from Day- 
ton, Ohio. ' ' Let us not rashly conclude, after the fashion of the 
Pennsylvania 7 professor, that all writers in the North and East 
are geniuses, and all writers in the South and West are — not, 
but merely negligible. We should critically weigh the claims of 
the Southern and Western as well as of the Northern author; 
and not commit the hurtful mistake of assuming that because 
things remote and unknown are reputed great and magnificent, 
therefore things near and familiar are trivial and insignificant. 
One of the most distinguished of living literary critics, long 
absent from this country, recently wrote me some months after 
his return : ' ' New England seems to have lost inspiration and 
initiative. * * * The South possesses what no other section 
of the country possesses — a dominant religious, emotional feeling 
which lies at the root of all fundamental culture. * * * The 
South was created for art, poetry, religion, and song * * * 
You, who are leading a crusade for culture in the South, preach 
to your young people the vital need for working out their own 
salvation on their own soil, and eating the fruit of their own 
trees of knowledge." It is for our cultural societies and our 
universities in the South to inculcate the doctrine, I submit, that 
in this new civilization the author deserves to share with minis- 

14 






ter, statesman, educator, warrior and industrial leader the meed 
of popular praise and the symbol of academic renown. This 
enlightened spirit is to be signally displayed here to-morrow 
when Tulane University will graciously and fittingly confer 
the degree of Doctor of Literature upon two distinguished na- 
tional figures in whom all Southerners feel unaffected pride, 
Euth McEnery Stuart and Grace King. I call to the South of 
to-day to make a stand for the eternal values of literature. Let 
but the sections of our country — in especial the South — develop 
harmoniously the true heritage of their individual traditions and 
spirit, while always preserving the universal outlook, and we may 
rest assured as to the future of America's position in all the arts. 
"The ideal Southern writer," said Joel Chandler Harris once, 
"must be Southern, and yet cosmopolitan; he must be intensely 
local in feeling, but utterly unprejudiced and unpartisan as to 
opinions, tradition, and sentiment. Whenever we have a genuine 
Southern literature, it will be American and cosmopolitan as 
well. Only let it be a work of genius, and it will take all sections 
by storm." 

Archibald Henderson. 



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